


On Ships & Courtships

by notjodie-other (notjodieyet)



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Fluff, Miscommunication, Other, POV First Person, Polyamory, i made a whole new PSEUD for this, im so committed, nb lesbian rights!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25088245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodie-other
Summary: Something is wrong with Seivarden, although Breq can't quite tell *what*.
Relationships: Justice of Toren One Esk Nineteen | Breq/Mercy of Kalr, Justice of Toren One Esk Nineteen | Breq/Mercy of Kalr/Seivarden Vendaai, Justice of Toren One Esk Nineteen | Breq/Seivarden Vendaai
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	On Ships & Courtships

The first occurrence of the problem, although I didn’t realize the fact at the time, was in the very early morning, directly after Seivarden had woken up. She found me in my quarters, sorting through inane paperwork that Station had sent yesterday evening.

“Tea, Fleet Captain?”

That should have been my first indication that something was amiss. 

As it was, I was too busy with checking boxes and circling all that applied to notice anything. “Yes, please,” I said, and Seivarden went about the actions of the thing. I should have realized she looked uncomfortable at the words. But I did not.

“Amaat One is on watch,” said Seivarden. I knew that already, of course, and there was no point in telling me. What was she trying to imply? 

(I checked in on Amaat One to make sure she was doing all right. She was a bit bored, humming  _ Oh tree, eat the fish,  _ to herself, but altogether nothing was wrong.)

“Thank you,” I said as Seivarden placed the bowl of tea in front of me. She sat at the other end of the table, somewhat hidden by paperwork, and pushed a few stacks aside so her face was no longer obscured. I took a sip of tea. It was good, if a little watery.

Seivarden cleared her throat. “The translator began to paint the walls of Bo deck. Fleet Captain.” This time I noticed it, but didn’t think much of it. Seivarden was upset at something but I didn’t have the focus to analyze what or why, let alone to ask Ship. Ancillaries are not designed for paperwork.

(At around this point I realized that I could very well have passed the job on to one or more of my more capable lieutenants when they were all awake. It was too late for that now). 

“Did she,” I said. Seivarden referred to Zeiat, of course, although it was strange that she didn’t refer to the translator by her name. Strange, but not strange enough for me to particularly care. “Do the Bos mind?” I knew all this already, and I had known how the Bos felt since two hours previously, when they had first found out. But there was some benefit in asking (and therefore it was proper and therefore just, not that the latter especially was a very large factor in our casual conversation) in that Seivarden would be forced to consider her reactions and it would be the polite thing to say. 

“They don’t seem to mind,” said Seivarden, and it was only now that I noticed the strained tone of her voice. Perhaps I would send her to Medic. “They only request that she use a color other than bright orange. Fleet Captain.” There it was again. 

“Where did the translator get the paint?”

Seivarden worried her bottom lip. “One of the Etrepas gave it to her, sir. I believe she bought it on Athoek Station.”

I nodded. “Well, tell them to buy more. In whatever color they please.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Seivarden, and stood up abruptly. “Thank you very much, Fleet Captain.”

“Seivarden?”

She paused on her way to the door. “Yes?”

“Ah —” I decided not to pursue it further. If Seivarden was hiding something, I would find out soon enough, and she must have a very good reason anyway. “Never mind.”

Seivarden left.

* * *

The second time it happened, I had far less of an excuse, as I was not doing much save conversing with  _ Sphene _ . (Our plans included Translator Zeiat as well, but she found it more prudent to instead draw with chalk outside the Undergardens restaurant where we dined). 

Even if I did confide often in  _ Sphene, _ which I did not, I still would not have mentioned my half-formed concerns about Seivarden. Besides, there was a good chance she had just been off or upset for some reason that morning. No real reason to worry.

_ Sphene _ was in the middle of an admittedly uninteresting story about her recent escapades in Republic politics, which I was listening to as I checked in on the officers on  _ Mercy of Kalr, _ when Seivarden interrupted us.

“Fleet Captain!” she said cheerily, as if just now noticing we were sitting there. In reality, Seivarden had been sitting outside for twenty-one minutes and fifty-two seconds, idly watching Zeiat and the neighborhood children frolic. “I was wondering if you’d seen the clouds today.”

This was a very strange thing for Seivarden to say for a number of reasons, not least of which being that Seivarden ordinarily did not give one singular shit about clouds. Most importantly, there were no clouds on the station, a fact which significantly hindered Seivarden or my viewing of any clouds today. 

“I can’t say I have,” I replied, watching for Seivarden’s reaction. 

She showed none, except for a smidge of discomfort. “I see the Translator is having a good time.”

I checked. Zeiat did appear to be having a nice time, although two of the sticks of chalk had mysteriously disappeared. “Yes. She certainly is.”

“Is the tea good?”

I took a sip of tea. “Yes,” I said. “It’s very good. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you,” said Seivarden. She reached out and laid her gloved hand on my shoulder, awkwardly, which her face told me she only sort of wanted to do anyway. I looked at the hand and blinked. “I’ll go.”

“All right,” I said.

_ Sphene  _ and I watched her leave the restaurant. “I think something might be up with your lieutenant,” said  _ Sphene _ , and I was forced to agree. 

* * *

The third, and final, time was when I was in the bath on  _ Mercy of Kalr _ . Seivarden seemed tentative to approach me and a blush was just visible on her skin. Not, I thought, because of my own nakedness — Seivarden had seen me naked before, in our previous proximity where it was impossible to avoid — but some other, removed discomfort.

“Good morning, Fleet Captain,” said Seivarden, her voice distorted by the room and the water.

“Good morning, Seivarden,” I said, and gestured her over to me. She complied. “I’ve been…” How, exactly, to phrase this? “You’ve been,” I restarted, “acting…  _ differently _ , in the past few days.”

Seivarden fidgeted.

“Is something wrong? You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Seivarden, and then said: “This is me, now. I was Ship before.”

“Really?” I asked  _ Mercy of Kalr _ silently. It did not reply. “Really?” I said aloud, to Seivarden. The response was not helpful, but I couldn’t think of another at the moment. 

Seviarden ducked her head. “We thought. Since you…”

I reached for Ship’s explanation. It did not provide one.

“Since we both,” corrected Seivarden. She waved a hand at me, at that, but I wasn’t sure what the gesture was meant to mean.

No, that was wrong. I knew exactly what she meant. But —

Ships didn’t love ships.

— But I couldn’t convince myself it was true. Nevertheless, I didn’t wait for Seivarden to explain herself. “You don’t like when Ship talks through you, though.”

She shrugged. “We thought it would make sense. For you.” So they had decided this for my benefit. Without asking me. 

I couldn’t very well tell them to stop. It disturbed me, to see Seivarden voluntarily acting like an ancillary, but it was her choice — her and Ship’s, that was. “I don’t need you to do any of this,” I said. “Not you, Seivarden, and not Ship, either.”

“All right.”

“All right?”

“We can stop.”

I could tell neither of them wanted that, either. They wanted some way to be…  _ with _ me, for whatever reason, together. But what did Seivarden get out of the deal? Ship now had a willing body who it knew I liked, but Seivarden had to play puppet, a game I knew she’d never liked. 

At Seivarden’s silence, I guessed at it: she had wanted some way to connect to me. To feel closer to me. To mimic who —  _ what _ — I once was, and gain interesting talking points she thought I would actually care about. That explained the clouds and Seivarden’s recent awkwardness too.  _ Mercy of Kalr _ had analyzed conversations it had heard in the past to replicate them in an organic way. 

“Can we continue, sir?” tried Seivarden, noticing my unresponsiveness. No, tried  _ Ship _ . 

I watched her — watched them — for any sort of giveaway that Seivarden might not actually want this. On the contrary, she seemed, if not happy, perfectly content with her newfound position. “You have my permission,” I said, although I doubted either of them needed it.

“Thank you, Fleet Captain,” said Ship. 

“You’re dismissed,” I said.

Seivarden, although not Ship (Ship could never really leave when we were here, after all), exited the room, and I was left in peace to soak.


End file.
